


Drunken Musings

by featheredpranks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Dean, Gen, Post Season Four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featheredpranks/pseuds/featheredpranks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone and drunk, Dean starts thinking of the really important questions.<br/>Cas has the privilege of answering one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Musings

After his eighth shot of whiskey and second beer, Dean begins to wonder about ridiculous things. Sam is out for the night-probably rolling in books at the local twenty-four hour bookstore. Dean snorts at the thought of a twenty-four hour book store. Who needs a book at three in the morning anyway? _People like Sam,_ he realizes, _who need an escape from reality. From the devil chasing them down._

This, obviously, does not help Dean's mood; he downs half of the third beer and glares drunkenly to the heavens. The heavens, he thinks angrily at the stars. He almost sloshes some beer in the general direction of the sky, but decides to not waste it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if that means he is too drunk or simply not drunk enough.  
Dean gulps down another measure of beer.

So, Sam isn’t here. It's Dean, his Baby and an open cornfield, because no Winchester stop-off is complete without one.

What this really means is Dean's alone with his thoughts. He really needs a distraction.  
The heavens and the celestial bodies and the stars get him thinking about angels. His thoughts wander from one dick-with-wings to another, growing increasingly irritated with their general preference to screw over the inhabitants of the world they were supposed to protect. Then he remembers: there's like, one good angel in the world.  
Castiel.

It sort of took him a while to cut the “dick” out of “dick-with-wings” and replace it “dude”; killing a few traitorous angels and saving some humans can do that to an angel with a few millennia under his vessel’s belt.

And yeah, he's got some pretty cool angelic powers, Dean muses, letting his mind sluggishly put a montage together: healing, smiting demons, smiting _humans_ , sensing other beings, causing earthquakes, invisibility (and boy, Cas could be really kinky with that if he ever lived a little), and time travel. Dean remembers some other, nastier powers (like lung removal, for example) from other angels, but he focuses on the ones performed by Castiel.

Castiel first appeared with fierce gales of wind and slamming barn doors, exploding lights and a laser, ice-blue stare, tousled chestnut hair and noisy, beige overcoat. Even now, the angel of the lord commands any scene by making an entrance with a soft flurry of noise and immediately proceeds to smite the demon of the day into the plane of non-existence. He was even more devoted and self-sacrificing than the average Winchester, always with a subtle undercurrent of power flickering behind his vessel's eyes.

Dean, while drunk at least, would be the first to admit that he kind of appreciated the little rustle that signaled Cas' arrival. It was reassuring to know his angel was there for him when he needed him or simply wanted to see him.

Dean's thoughts bubbled, swirled and boiled down to a single thought: what was that sound? Was it the wings that Dean had once seen the shadows of? Or was it the beige trench coat of Jimmy Novak, flapping in the wake of divine power?

Cas couldn't be too far away, right?

He cleared his throat, raised his beer and bowed his head. "Uh...Cas, if you're not busy or something-" Dean hiccupped once. "Gotta question for ya..."

He opened an eye and glanced around, waited a few seconds. "Cas!" Dean shouted, his dazed mind whirling in a panic, only calming for the familiar rustle on the wind.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Castiel stands within arm's reach, confused and uncertain. There's some anxiety as well.

Dean doesn't like it. He tilts his head up further, so Cas can see the crooked smile Dean aims his way.

" 'm fine. Listen, listen," he pauses, studies the angel's face to make sure he is indeed listening. He is.

"When I call you, when you- you angel in, what's that I'm hearing, like-"

Cas scrunches his nose up in confusion. "I fail to see how that is relev-"

"Humor me." Dean huffs noisily, impatient with his companion.

Cas shuffles closer. Dean giggles; it's absurd to think that the angel feels uncomfortable, alone in the dim darkness. Even though they both know what's out there, he can't help but think that Cas is a teensy bit afraid, wants Dean to protect him. Dean stops giggling when he realizes that perhaps this is a show of trust on the angel's part, or perhaps just a simple want for contact out of loneliness.

Dean shuffles further to the edge of the Impala's hood to help make up some of the distance.

  
When Castiel speaks, his voice is gruff, despite the bashful shuffle of feet and the fidgeting of his hands. "That...would be the sound of my wings being tucked into the ethereal plane, Dean."

Dean snorts at the gravity of the tone and reaches back for another beer. "That's pretty freakin' fancy, Cas."

Castiel regards Dean curiously, steals the bottle from his grasp with one hand and touches Dean's forehead with two fingers from the other. Suddenly sober, Dean blinks in surprise.

The rebel angel tugs the corners of his lips upward. "You ask strange questions when you are inebriated, Dean."


End file.
